Breaking Point
by vine
Summary: When someone is pushed to the breaking point, the result usually creates a domino effect of catostrophic events that can even undermine a whole society. Scott Summers just broke.
1. Chapter 1

I'm looking down at your grave, and all I'm asking is why? Why would you take your own life? I've heard that phrase too often of late. I think the teachers are avoiding the suicide word.

Speaking of teachers, I eavesdropped on Dr. McCoy and Ms. Monroe the other day. They were saying how the pressure finally got to you. Yah, like you would have snapped. It isn't that. It's Jean, isn't it? I don't think you've smiled once since she died, and that was a whole _year _ago. You didn't even smile when Bobby got stuck on the chandelier all night, or when Jamie tried multiplying himself 20 times, because none of us would play with him. You didn't even seem happy when Alex proposed to Lorna, and he's your brother! How can the teachers be so blind as to think you folded from the pressure?

I thought about suicide once, right after my powers emerged. I didn't think life was worth living, without touch. Now, looking back, I'm glad I didn't have the guts. Somewhere along the line, I found out that the only way to be happy was to work at it. String all the little pieces together, like coming here, and meeting Logan, or dating Bobby. Our first kiss. Even after we broke up, I still had Jubilee and Kitty to fall back on. Then there was Gambit, and his funny remarks and nonstop flirting… I'll stop there. But see? The little things add up. And when they do, they usually overpower the bad.

Maybe that's just it, though. Maybe Jean was the person who showed you the good in everything, even Logan. She was one of those people who looked at a downpour and saw a rainbow. When she died, your light snuffed out. You were the blind man, and Jean was your eyes. Is that it? Probably. But there's no way of asking you. My question's answered now, and I think I understand why you did what you did. But why go out in that way? I kept my part of the deal, I didn't tell anyone. See, that's what I thought the _pills _were for.

Okay, so you changed your mind. Now, Scott, answer me this;

Why'd you kill me too?


	2. Chapter 2

This started out as a one-shot, but after much thought, I decided to continue it. This is a definite AU. Warning: Character Death, obviously, and I'm not sure if I'm done with all the death yet, either.

It was two hours later, and the mourning hordes had all but diminished. Now, there was but one hollow individual, who was huddled, child-like, at the end of a fresh mound of dirt. For a moment, it was hard to tell whether the figure had also joined the realm of the dead. But no. His eyes, a startling red, were open, and glistening with unshed tears.

This man's name is Remy Lebeau, and he is numb.

He stares at the newly hewn gravestone, not really seeing it at all. He has already memorized the epitaph.

Rogue;

You touched all our lives,

though you were denied the pleasure.

There were numerous flowers scattered across the mound, along with a handful of pictures, and a worn pair of white gloves.

Jubilee and Kitty had brought those, saying tearfully how they had been Rogue's favorite. Gambit had yet to lie anything down, but between his nimble fingers lay a battered Queen of Hearts. He ran his fingers slowly over the face, an old habit.

"Um, uh…Remy? It's 7:00. We -uh- saved you some dinner…"

Remy turned. Theresa Rourke, one of the younger students, was standing behind him, holding a tray weighed down with food. She looked uncomfortable. He tried to smile weakly at the girl, but ended up failing miserably.

"Jus'- set it dere, _petite_," He looked back at the card, not even paying attention any more. He didn't even notice when Theresa left, and a taller, more graceful figure approached.

"You should at least wear your jacket," said a soft voice, depositing a worn trench coat in front of him. He didn't even look up.

"_Merci_,Stormy, but Remy ain't cold."

He felt, rather than saw, Storm sit beside him.

"You know, it's-"

"If you gonna say it ain't Remy's fault, t'ats de most cliqued line…"

Storm smiled, a sad half-grin that did nothing to dim the sorrow in her eyes.

"I wasn't. Just- remember. You're not the only one who cared for her. Kitty, Jubilee, Bobby, Logan… They all lost a friend in Rogue. You're not alone."

Remy snorted derisively. "Tis a day for cliques."

Storm frowned. "Just don't make the same mistakes that Scott did."

The man turned wildly, glaring at Storm with a crazy hate in his eyes.

"Don't- _dare_ mention dat, dat _freak's_ nom 'round me _ever 'gain!_"

Storm was taken aback. In the thick, near-darkness, Remy's eyes looked as if they were burning with anger. Storm had, of course, been feeling pain and sorrow for her young friend, but now she felt another emotion, a sharp, terrifying one, more for herself than Gambit:

Fear.

It was unfounded, however. Remy had already turned back towards the grave, his eyes, again unseeing. Storm, sensing that the Cajun had just wanted to be alone, quietly left. She knew she had to be strong, for the students and herself. But, before she went inside, she opened her arms and lifted them to the sky. And the rain, her signature, her gift, welcomed her. The rain did what she would not. It mourned. For she would not cry.

**In advance, I apologize for Remy's accent; this is the first time I've ever attempted to write an accent. Any feedback is welcome, as this is my first attempt at an angst fic as well. Cheers!**


End file.
